


fusi o alaleo

by ShyAudacity



Series: Riverdale Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: American Football, American Sign Language, Anxiety, Archie-centric, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Archie Andrews, Canon Autistic Character, Cheryl doesnt actually speak at all, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Headcanon Accepted, Homeless Jughead Jones, How Do I Tag, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Character, Mary is Not Nice, Oops, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Fred Andrews, Protective Jughead Jones, Service Dogs, Sleepovers, Thunder and Lightning, Vegas is a Service Dog, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyAudacity/pseuds/ShyAudacity
Summary: "Archie is eight now and he cries every time that there’s a thunderstorm. After the last one, his dad had found him in his room with all of the blankets on his bed pulled over top of him, his hands over his ears, and with Vegas draped over top of the lump he’d made of himself. He’d been in a state of panic, but was still able to sign and tell his dad that the sound was hurting his ears."ORautisticarchieandrews on tumblr gave me a dope ass headcanon and it just had to be written.





	fusi o alaleo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SmilesRawesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilesRawesome/gifts).



> Thank you thank you thank you to Amy for the headcanon and for putting up with my endless questions for the last week while I wrote this fic. This is one of the strongest things I've ever written, and the title is the word "spectrum" in Samoan. 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own, and I don't own anything but if I did I'd make all of them gay. Duh.

The first time that Archie speaks, Fred Andrews almost cries right then and there inside of his son’s preschool classroom.

To say that he’d been nervous would be an understatement. Him and his wife had considered waiting on school for another year. Archie had just turned five, but the parents were more worried about his vocabulary, or lack thereof.

Archie hadn’t spoken, not once. Their family doctor had diagnosed him with Apraxia, a speech delay. She had recommended that they start using sign language around the house, which worked well for them. But Fred was still worried about how things would go over in public settings, such as school.

He had told his wife, Mary, that he’d pick up Archie after school once he was done for the day at the construction site. Fred may have been a little late, but he was still there to pick up his son just as he promised. When he gets there, Archie and one other boy are the only ones still waiting to be picked up. The two are coloring when he gets there.

Archie sees his dad as soon as he walks in the door. He drops his crayon, grabs the boy sitting next to him by the hand and pulls him over to his father.

“Papa!” Archie exclaims. “This is Fort, he’s my friend. Best friend!”

Fred feels his stomach leap into his chest with joy. He squats, getting down to eye level with the two boys. He thinks he might choke on his own tongue as he tries to speak.

“T-That’s great, kiddo.” Fred says. He looks to the boy still holding hands with his son. He’s got a little scowl on his face and a beanie on that is far too big for his small head.

“I’m Forsythe Jones the Third, nice to meet you.” The boy says, sticking out his free hand. “Archie thinks that my name is too hard, so I said that he could call me Fort instead. You can too if you wanna.”

Fred chuckles to himself, he should have recognized that those blue eyes were the same as his old friend from high school. It’s a small town, everyone knows everyone. He remembers his wife saying that Archie and the Jones’ son would be starting school together.

“Hi, Fort, it’s nice to meet you.” Fred says. “You know what? I’m actually a good friend of your dad’s. Do you wanna come over to our house and play with Archie for a while?”

So, Fred takes the two boys home, then calls Gladys Jones and informs her of the situation. Once they finally get back to the Andrew’s house, Mary is waiting in the kitchen, a confused look on her face at the sight of two boys running up the stairs. Fred can barely contain himself, he tells her everything and the two of them stand there crying together.

That night, before he goes to bed, Fred looks up at the sky and thanks to whoever is listening that one Forsythe Jones the Third exists.

*****

Archie was diagnosed with Autism shortly before he turned six, and Fred is still learning what he likes and what he doesn’t. It’s a lot of trial and error, the success list isn’t as long as he’d like for it to be, but he’s trying. He’s making things work as a single dad.

Mary had skipped town a few months after the diagnosis, claiming that it was too hard, that she wasn’t prepared for this kind of challenge. Fred had been devastated, but angry more than anything that the woman he loved wasn’t the person he originally thought she was. Regardless, he found ways to make things work, no matter how hard it was some days.   

Getting Archie to eat is still a struggle for him. The food sensitivities make more sense to Fred now that he knows where it’s coming from. Archie had told him once that certain foods feel bad in his mouth, which led him to do a lot of research. A website that he had found said that most kids with autism have issues with textures, whether it be food or clothing. He remembers the two months when Archie was four when he would only eat white foods, which is still bizarre to him even now. Archie has expanded his palate since then, not by much, but nonetheless extended.

Another new adjustment in the Andrews house was Vegas, Archie’s new service dog. It had been a birthday gift as well as sense relief to Fred. It helped him to know that Vegas was around to help Archie in case he gets upset or should somehow manage to hurt himself. They’d adopted him from a kill shelter and immediately put Vegas into training classes for being a service dog. Archie barely let go of him for the first two days after they brought him home, saying over and over again how soft he is.

“What are you gonna name him, Archie?”

“Vegas. Vegas the Dog.”

“Why?”

“Cause. It’s cool.”

Fred had chuckled to himself, then didn’t ask again.

Archie is eight now and he cries every time that there’s a thunderstorm. After the last one, his dad had found him in his room with all of the blankets on his bed pulled over top of him, his hands over his ears, and with Vegas draped over the top of the lump he’d made of himself. He’d been in a state of panic, but was still able to sign and tell his dad that the sound was hurting his ears.

Having taken note of this, and the fact that there was supposed to be another storm that night, Fred comes home a few weeks later with a pair of noise canceling headphones. He gives them to Archie after dinner, just before the clouds had taken over and turned the sky gray.

Ten minutes later, Archie sat with his legs crossed in front of the screen door that leads to their front porch and watched the lightning bend and stretch across the sky. He felt the ground rumble underneath him as the lightning struck nearby. It was like watching a silent movie, and Archie _loves_ movies. The colors were beautiful and the cool air coming in from the rain felt nice on his skin. For once, the rain storm didn’t make him feel like his skin was trying to crawl off of his body.

Later, once the storm had passed and he was getting ready for bed, he still cried.

“What’s the matter kiddo? Did the headphones not work?” Fred asked him, having found his son upset.

“Good. It’s good.” He says, and nothing more. He continues to sign “good” over and over again, and the realization dawns on Fred.

“Did the sound not hurt this time?”

Archie has signed “yes” repeatedly with a rapid force. Then, Vegas sat himself in Archie’s lap as a means of comfort and calming the distressed child. As he buried his face Vegas’ fur, Fred sat down next to him, not touching but staying close. Once the young red head had calmed down, they read books, the same three books that they read every night, and Fred Andrews tried to assure himself that he was doing the right thing.  

*

As a kid, Archie had been known to go nonverbal every now and again, refusing to speak. While he wasn’t as likely to do that nowadays, but he did often revert to using sign language in the middle of the conversation. Both himself and his Dad had become fluent in Sign Language over the years, but Jughead wasn’t.

Jughead, who was still commonly known as “Fort” in the Andrews house, only knew bits and piece of ASL. He knew common phrases like “yes”, “no”, or “thank you”, but anything more than simple responses was beyond him. He would watch, mesmerized at the two Andrews conversing back and forth with each other with ease. It made Jughead want to learn for himself.

One day when he was ten, he came home and told his mom that they had to go to the library. He found all of the American Sign Language books that his small arms could hold and took them home. He spent the whole weekend reading them and practicing the signs so that he could show Archie at school on Monday morning.

When Monday came, Jughead couldn’t wait for Archie to get there. He could barely sleep the night before, too excited to show his best friend what he had learned. As Archie walked into the classroom, Jughead rushed over to him, unable to contain his joy.

“ _Hi, Archie! I learned how to do this for you!_ ” Jughead signs.

Archie beams, almost in tears with how excited he is that his best friend learned sign language just so they could talk to each other. He flaps his hands for a solid three minutes, exuding joy, then immediately breaks into a conversation with Jughead in sign language. The two of them don’t speak using any other form of communication for three days. It’s some of the best three days in Archie’s short life.

*

“Dad, I want this one! It’s blue!”

“Archie, that sweatshirt is three sizes too big for you.”

“But it’s soft…and blue.

*

His interests grow over the years just as he does. Archie loves football, he keeps a note of his favorite teams and players, starts a fantasy football draft for both the college and professional leagues. He has his lucky jersey that he wears over his favorite sweatshirt, but he only wears it on game day. That’s what makes it lucky if you ask him.

When he turns thirteen, instead of getting some new movies for his birthday like he usually would, he asks to get a guitar instead. Says that he wants to learn to play his favorite song, Sugar We’re Going Down. Fred is all for it, they go to the music shop downtown the morning of his birthday. Archie insists on touching all of them until he finds the perfect one. He eventually settles on an acoustic six string Alvarez, dark wood and it doesn’t have a shine to it like all of the other ones he looked at. He likes shiny things, yes, but not shiny guitars.    

“Feels good, sounds good.” He says to the guy selling them the guitar. Archie says thank you four times before they even get out of the store, he vibrates with joy the entire car ride back to the house. He calls Jughead as soon as they get home, telling him that he has to come over _right now_ so that he can show Jughead his guitar.

The raven-haired boy arrives at the Andrews house not even twenty minutes later and finds Archie in the living room, watching a video on play different chords how to on his dad’s laptop. By the time Jughead has to go home for the night, Archie already has the intro down to a science. Guitar is the only thing that he talks about for months, that is until the new Jungle Book movie comes out.

*

“Archie, try some of my banana smoothie, it’s delicious!”

“Nope, I don’t like it. Nope.”

“You don’t like bananas?”

“No. I don’t like yellow. Gross bad gross.”

*

Their Movie Saturday’s usually look like this: the first Saturday of the month Jughead will come over to the Andrews at 12:30 on the nose. He lets himself in and goes straight to the living room where Archie will already have the DVD player set up for the first movie that they’re going to watch. The first movie, usually Tarzan or one of the Toy Story films, starts as soon as Jughead sits down. The two of them haven’t missed a Movie Saturday in four years.

However, on this Movie Saturday in November, right after Jughead’s birthday, said newly fifteen-year-old walks into a strangely quiet house. There’s no sound of popcorn being made in the microwave or the sound of Archie playing his ukulele coming from the living room. It’s bizarre and worries Jughead, the Andrews house is never quiet, not like this.

Making his way into the kitchen, he finds Fred standing at the counter, looking over some paper work. Fred looks up as he hears Jughead come in.

“Hey, Jug, I was gonna call you-.”

“What’s going on? Why does it feel like someone died in here?”

“Archie’s mom called this morning.” Fred said, a grimace creeping across his face.

“Jesus Christ.” Jughead sighed, shaking his head and cursing internally.

Every couple of weeks, Mary Andrews would call and ask to talk to Archie. The poor kid was too nice to say no to his mother, but talking to her always made him sad. He’d shut himself in his room for the rest of the day, not speaking to anybody. Once, when they were eleven, Mary showed up out of the blue and Archie started panicking the instant he saw her. It had taken Fred nearly an hour to calm him down. She hasn’t come around since then.

Mary hadn’t called in a while, and Jughead had been silently hoping, for Archie’s sake, that it would stay that way.

“What did she want? Why did she call this time?” He asked.

“I don’t know, Archie wouldn’t say. He hasn’t come out of his room either. Your guess is as good as mine, but knowing Mary it couldn’t have been anything helpful.”  

Jughead is halfway upstairs before Fred can finish his sentence. When he notices Vegas curled in front of the door to Archie’s room, he knows that this is a bad day for Archie. Approaching the door, he raps on the wood; three quick knocks, a pause, and one more knock, it’s code they came up with years ago. It’s what Jughead uses to inform Archie that he’s coming into a room if Archie is having a bad day or simply not paying attention.

The door creaks as he pushes it open, the whole room is dark despite it being noon. All of the lights are off and the blinds are pulled so that there’s not an ounce of sunlight anywhere in the room. Jughead takes a note of the punching bag hung up in the corner, which hadn’t been there the night before. He doesn’t see Archie’s gloves anywhere, and Jughead doesn’t have to ask what that means.

An Archie shaped bundle is on the bed, the blankets pulled over his head in an act of defense. Jughead sits on the floor next to the bed, near where he guesses that Archie’s head is. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a single sound, not until a single finger with a bruised knuckle pokes itself out of the edge of the blanket. Jughead moves so his index finger is underneath Archie’s before he speaks.

“Do you wanna talk about it, Arch?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. One tap against his finger and he doesn’t press the issue any further.

It’s another part of their code, for when Archie isn’t in the right headspace to sign or can’t communicate vocally. Jughead will ask a question and Archie will either answer with one tap for no or two for yes. Jughead decides to ask something else.

“Is it okay if I come under the blanket with you?”

A pregnant pause, then two taps on the skin of his finger.

Jughead moves fluidly, kicking off his shoes before he gets on the bed. He lifts the blankets and presses his chest to Archie’s back before pulling the covers over himself as well. In the dark, Jughead finds Archie’s upper arm and rests his hand there for a moment before moving it up and down. It isn’t long before Archie is rolling over underneath the warmth of the blankets, hugging Jughead around his waist and folding their hands together. Archie hides his face in Jughead’s neck.

“When you’re ready, do you wanna watch a movie? It’s still Movie Saturday, after all.”

Archie squeezes his hand twice and Jughead hums in agreement. It’s another few minutes of lying in the dark before Archie speaks up.

“I don’t like when mom calls. Makes me sad, Fort.”

“I know, buddy,” Jughead replies, slinking an arm around his back. “I don’t like when people make you sad, either.”

“Stupid…sad and stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

“ _You’re not_ stupid, Archie.”

The redhead doesn’t say anything else after that, though its stuffy and Jughead feels like he can’t breathe, he stays under the blanket with his best friend. Twenty minutes later, Archie shifts and moves the blanket down so it’s no longer covering their heads. He keeps his head down, not looking at Jughead when he speaks.

“Can we have Movie Saturday upstairs today, Juggie?”

“Yeah, sure thing buddy.” Jughead moves out from the blanket. “I’ll go get the popcorn started, okay?”

Jughead makes his way towards the door, turning back before he exits. Archie is faced away from him, curled up in the fetal position like it’s all that he can manage. Jughead feels his heart sink as he trots down the stairs. He wishes that there was more to do to make his friend feel better, but instinctually he knows that things like this can’t be fixed with a hug or a movie. Either way, he’ll do what he can.

A few minutes later once he’s returned with the butter-less popcorn and an ice pack, Archie signs _thank you_ before he turns on Star Wars Episode IV. If he hears Archie hiss quietly when the ice touches his sore hand, Jughead doesn’t mention it.    

*

“Archie, why are you wearing sunglasses?”

“The light bothers my eyes.

“But it’s night time, and we’re inside.”

“…”

*

When the news of Jason Blossom’s death finally breaks through to the public, it’s a Saturday night and Archie is in his living room playing his ukulele that he got earlier that week. He doesn’t look up when his dad walks in. In fact, the information doesn’t register with him until Monday morning at school when he sees three people crying in the hallway on the way to first period.

Then, the new girl Veronica says something about Jason dying before he can ask her why everyone is upset. Archie starts to feel sad himself, mostly because everybody else is sad, but also because he knows this means that Cheryl doesn’t have a brother anymore. He knows that he would be really sad if Jughead, his Dad, or even Vegas died.

It’s because of all of this that his friend and neighbor, Betty, finds sitting him on a bench in the hallway instead being in his second period English class.

“Archie? Are you okay?” she asks, seeing the boy in distress. “Can I sit down next to you?”

He nods, wiping his face of the tears that keep coming.

“Everybody is sad, Betty. I don’t like it.”

“I know Archie,” she says sympathetically. “But sometimes we just have to feel things in order for us to be able to deal with them.”

“It sucks. Extra sucks.” He grumbles.

Betty laughs lightly. “Yeah, it does suck. I’ll tell you what, how about we skip for the rest of the day and go to pops instead? It’ll be my treat.”

“But what about school? We can’t skip.”

“And yet neither one of us are in class right now.” She says, smirking at him. “C’mon, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

Archie tells his dad as soon as he comes home that afternoon, but to be fair Betty never _technically_ said it was a secret.

*

“Hey, Archie, look at this I got you something.”

“What is it, Kevin?”

“It’s a stim blanket.”

“It’s a blanket full of balls? How is that good for stimming?”

“Just try it.”

“…Holy shit.”

*

The Sad Breakfast Club, as Cheryl likes to refer to them as, are all sitting at lunch when Betty says that she has an announcement.

“I’m a lesbian.” She tells them. Veronica says that she’s proud of Betty and Kevin is relieved that he has someone to take with him to the gay club, even if she went with him before. Jughead congratulates her then looks over to Archie who has had his face buried in a notebook, frantically scribbling words onto a page.

“Arch, did you hear that?” Jughead asks, tapping four times on his right hand. “Betty is gay.” 

Archie doesn’t look up, but he does drop his pen and makes the sign for _celebration._ He shakes his hands for only a second before going back to what he’d been doing. Everyone chuckles at him.

That Friday there’s a football game so Archie begs for Jughead to go with him; not that he really has to beg because Jughead would have gone with him either way. The whole squad attends, and it’s halftime when Archie realizes that he’s out of popcorn so he goes to get some more. He isn’t gone for more than a minute before Jughead hears him yelling as he runs back to the stands.

“Fort!” he calls from ten feet away. He’s out of breath once he finally gets back to the seats. “Jug, I just- I saw-.”

“Hey, slow down Arch. Take a deep breath then tell me.”

He does so, sucking in a large amount of air before continuing. “I saw Betty and Veronica behind the concession stand. _Kissing._ ”

That wasn’t what Jughead was expecting Archie to say, but nevertheless he’s not surprised. The two ladies have been making eyes at each since school started and he’d been wondering when one of them would make a move. Archie, on the other hand looks bewildered, like he had absolutely no clue that either of them even liked girls.

“Archie, Betty told us a few days ago that she’s gay, remember?”

“What? _When?_ ”

“I don’t know, I think it was Tuesday?” Jughead supplies.

Archie squints one eye, looking up at the sky and pawing at his chest, trying to remember. When he does, he throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Jug! If that was Tuesday, I was _writing a song._ You can’t tell me things when I’m writing a song, I’ll never remember! You know that.”

Jughead scoffs lightly, guiding Archie back to their seats. On Monday morning, Archie comes to school proudly stating a homemade, navy blue shirt that says “yay gay” in glittery puff paint and all caps. He has one in every color of the rainbow for all of his friends, except yellow, because he hates yellow.

*

“What are you watching, Archie?”

“A paint mixing video.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. It’s relaxing.”

*

“Dad! Jughead needs to move in with us!” Archie yells as he comes through the door after school.

Fred is seated at the table in dining room. He pulls off his glasses and looks at his son quizzically. “Huh. Now why would Jughead need to move in with us when he already has a home at the trailer park?”

“Because he doesn’t live there anymore.” His hands flapping along with the words. “Jug said that his dad “fell off the wagon” again so then his mom took Jellybean to Toledo and Jug decided that he didn’t wanna be there either so he was sleeping at the drive-in. Then it got torn down and he’s been living in a closet at school. So, can he come live with us? Also, what does it mean when someone falls off the wagon? Because Jughead wouldn’t tell me, he didn't want to talk about it.”

Fred is astonished, certain that he’s never heard his sixteen-year-old son say so many words at once. Either way, he tells Archie that he’ll think about it, fully knowing that this was bound to happen at some point or another. At the end of the week, when Jughead comes over to “spend the night” with a backpack full of stuff, he knows this will be longer than just the weekend.

“Stay as long as you need, Jug,” Fred tells the raven-haired boy, clapping him on the shoulder as he goes up the stairs with Archie. “You know that you’ll always have a home here.”

“Fort can stay?” The hopeful grin on Archie’s face could cure cancer, and Fred can’t help but smile back at his son.

“Yes, Arch, Fort can stay.”

Archie claps four times then rubs his palms together repeatedly, jubilation flooding the features of his face. Then he gasps, looking in Jughead’s direction.

“Do you know what this means? Pancakes, _every morning_.”

Jughead and Fred both laugh, then the two teens continue onto Archie’s room, settling into their respected seats for a round of video games. Not even twenty minutes into their game, Archie speaks up.

“Jug?”

“Yeah?”

“How come you didn’t go with your mom and Jellybean?”

Jughead pulls a face before he answers. “Uh... cause mom didn’t ask.”

Archie sets down his controller, letting the words sink in. Jughead’s mom hadn’t asked if he had wanted to go with her. He looks over at Jughead who is still playing their game, and he feels like someone kicked him in the heart. He keeps giving Jughead a sad glare until he realizes that he’s being stared at and pauses the game.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Archie holds out his arms, making a grabbing motion with his hands.

“You want a hug?” Jughead asks, looking confused.

Archie nods, continuing to make the grabbing motion until Jughead moves towards him. Archie hugs him around the waist, because those are _the best_ hugs. Jughead holds him around the shoulders, grateful that the one and only Archie Andrews is in his life, that he gets to call him his best friend -no, his _brother_.  

“Thanks, Archie.”

“You’re welcome.” Archie tells him. He says it two more times before they stop hugging and go back to their game.

Afterwards, Archie insists that they have pancakes every morning for a week. Neither Fred or Jughead can bring themselves to say no, when it comes to the two of them, they both have a weak spot for Archie. They wouldn’t have it any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! Please do tell me what you thought of it, comments and kudos make my life better. If you have a Riverdale prompt/request, you can find me on tumblr as thejugheadjoneschronicles (no porn or mpreg please, I won't do it) or you can leave it in the comments! Thanks again for reading, have a great day!


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